A Landslide of Vertigo
by Ocein
Summary: Last chapter! Olivia/Peter/Walter friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**Wow. It's been awhile. I'm hoping to continue this but need to find the motivation and time. This takes place after Charlie's death. **

**I do not own Fringe or its characters. **

_It hurt._

Olivia's eyes glazed over with the last swig of her third round. But hey, who was counting? She swiped aching, calloused fingers over her lips and exhaled. Her blonde hair curtained over closed eyes.

_It still hurts. _

The pain began to sear through her insides like boiling water over a flesh wound. Needless to say it was becoming unbearable; story of her life.

"Bartender," she all but yelled and beckoned the bartender over, "another; double please."

The pain started at her knees roughly two hours ago and now it had streamed upwards to her hands. Another shot would soothe it. Olivia just about swallowed the shot glass with the double round that was delivered by the scrutinizing, concerned bartender.

_Fucking finally. _

Her vision was beginning to blur and her mouth was burning, but this was good. This was….numbing. This was what she needed after a day like this. From an onlooker's point of view, one might have looked at the far left of the bar and saw a pretty, shattered blonde sitting alone on a Tuesday night, drinking away her problems. If it was only that simple. But, as she was painfully finding out, nothing was simple about her life.

Olivia brushed back a strand of hair and panned her head to the left and then the right. Looking to the right, she captured the gaze of someone staring at her.

_Stop looking at me you son of a bitch…I'm not in the mood. _

The penetrating, malicious glance she shot towards him must have wounded him momentarily for the unidentified stranger broke eye contact and ordered another drink.

_This is not me. _

She hooted when the thought entertained her: _who is 'me'? Who the fuck am I, really? _ She knew it was late and she knew she should have called Rachel by now. She didn't want her sister to worry at her expense, but at this point, the liquor began to chase away all of those menacing to-dos and rights and wrongs.

…………

She must have zoned out for a few minutes for when she came to her senses she felt hot puffing breath on her neck. Breath that smelled like beer and body odor. She zipped her head to the left, dizzying her in the process, and caught his gaze again. This time, the gap was mere inches away. The fellow bar fly pushed the paid for drink towards her.

"This will make things easier. Although, judging by the way you've been hammering these down, I think the chances are far in my favor than yours."

Olivia bit her tongue in disgust and rage. Any other time, which being any other time while not under the influence, she would have whipped out her gun or come up with some sassy remark. Instead, it took her more than a minute to gather her swirling thoughts.

"If I were you I'd back that fat, godforsaken face of yours out of mine before I break it," Olivia spoke never raising her voice to more than a whisper.

The man laughed, tugged at his trucker hat, and replied, "You're something else sweetheart! But, luckily for you, I like 'em rowdy in bed." And with that he brushed a hairy, slimy finger down the nape of her neck.

Furious, Olivia stood from where she was sitting at the bar and swiped his hand away. Unfortunately, she realized at that moment that she should have stopped drinking about two shots ago. Olivia lost her balance and began to fall backwards. She vaguely heard the stranger cackle a belly deep laugh. She waited for the impact against the floor but it never came. Instead, she felt two sweaty, hairy arms wrap around her from behind and begin to caress her sides.

"See, I told you sweetheart, piece of cake! You've done all the work for me."

At this point, Olivia's mind was swirling so fast she still felt like she was falling from her chair. She wanted to vomit, sober up, and get the hell out of here. A silent tear escaped when the perpetrator's finger grazed his hands lower toward unpasteurized land. She was about to scream out for help when she felt her head hit the floor pavement.

"You stay the fuck off of her you sick fuck!" someone yelled. The voice sounded vaguely familiar…

"And just who the fuck are you?" the stranger retorted with just as much venom.

Olivia's eyes were still closed but she could hear glasses shatter and more shouting. In the midst of the commotion, she felt two arms wrap underneath her arms, pull her up, and quickly drag her toward somewhere. She happily obliged.

"Fucking –A, Olivia!" she heard him yell at her. It wasn't until she was leaning on him, against the brisk night, that she realized who this man was. After taking in his familiar smell, it hit her.

_Peter. _

She lifted her head as best as she could and caught his countenance. Despite her vision being impaired, she saw anger and something else etched upon his face.

_Worry? _

She felt the soft humming of the car and the subtle vibration while she laid her head against the cool window. And then it hit her, again.

She hissed in pain and somehow managed to bring shaking hands to her head.

Peter tore his eyes from the road and glanced over at Olivia. He wanted to be angry and he wanted to shake her and scream at her but he just couldn't.

"Just relax, Liv," he soothed. When she cried out in pain again, the alarm rang louder inside of him.

"We're almost there, okay Liv? Just breathe. We're almost there…" his voice trailed off with soothing words. Olivia tried her best to sober up and conquer the pain, but the task was proving itself difficult.


	2. Chapter 2

A few moments of silence passed between them before it was broken.

"Stop the car," she murmured softly, using all her energy to quell what was rising within her.

Peter panned his head to the right and spoke. "Look, Livia, I'm sorry; I shouldn't have blown up at you," he sighed, suddenly feeling ashamed for yelling at her in her present condition.

"Peter, plea--," she began but he cut her off. He took his eyes off the road and stared intently at her.

"No, I should have--," he started but was interrupted.

"Peter, I'm going to be sick!" Olivia yelled, clutching her stomach and wincing in pain.

It took him a few seconds to fully register what she said but when he did he acutely swerved the car to the right lane and stopped abruptly. Olivia was starting out the car before he cut the engine. Still disorientated and now in pain, she partly stepped and partly fell out of the car. Her whole body convulsed as she emptied the contents of her stomach which only consisted of liquor, medication, and M&Ms.

It wasn't the gagging noises that made his stomach flip. Rather, it was the uneasiness he felt while debating whether or not he should help her or give her some respected space. He wanted to save her the embarrassment, but he also wanted to physically be there to ease the discomfort. He winced as he heard her purge once more.

Olivia felt herself being pulled up from dirt and gravel. Her hands tattered and scraped from the fall. She felt the soft puffs of warm air on her exposed neck as he guided her back to the car. She swore she heard a low "you've got it, just go easy" escape from his lips but she couldn't be sure.

Once in the car, she closed her eyes and prayed for the vertigo to end. She nearly jumped when she felt him reach over her and buckle her in. Time was fucking with her and all she could do was bite her bottom lip and pray she wasn't about to have another episode that would leave her seizing once more.

"Livia, it's just the alcohol. Just relax. We'll be home soon," she heard him speak softly. If her mind wasn't spinning like the Tilt-O-Whirl, she would have gazed her eyes toward him and seen the concern and worry etched on his face.

* * *

A cool compress gently lay on her forehead, easing her from a deep slumber. Momentarily, she felt the cool, silken feel of the comforter wrapped around her bare legs. With a drifting thought, she found the new sensation queer; her comforter certainly didn't feel like this. But as soon as the thought breezed to the forefront of her consciousness, it was swept away by slumber knocking.

* * *

Peter perched himself at the foot of the bed and watched her physically release and relax when he placed the cool cloth on her head. Now that she was in a more restful slumber, his anxieties escaped with one large, heavy sigh. He grazed one large calloused hand over his eyes and rested it on his temple. Gazing at the small, illuminate clock that read 2:14AM, he dragged his hand down to his mouth where it fidgeted with his lips. He debated the thought. With his hand reaching his temple once more, he decided it was best. Gently as possible, he smoothed the comforter underneath him and laid down next to her. Just ten minutes. He would only rest his eyes for ten minutes and then he'd wake and make his way to the next room. Now a mere nine inches away from her face, he selfishly seized the opportunity to study it. He indulged himself in the brazen fantasy where fingertips traced and lips colored in. Just ten minutes he repeated silently as he closed his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**A huge 'thank you' to the reviewers; especially JT4Life—for whipping my butt into posting another quick update. Mistakes are mine, the characters are not. **

While she had never served overseas to witness a close range bombing she decided that this is what it must be like. A bomb had imploded, shattering neurons and all the sensors that gave her clarity. The blaze was overwhelming. Through the absolute darkness she dragged herself out of the bed in search of the esteemed thrown where she would kneel. Feeling the wall where she should have felt a door she began to panic.

She felt large hands on her clammy shoulders. She almost didn't hear him over her own piercing, ragged breathes.

"Olivia, what's wrong?"

Honestly, the small sounds of exasperation, swallowed in the darkness, woke up him from a sound sleep that was only supposed to last a few minutes. He was up and towards her in mere seconds when he awoke.

An influx of questions flooded him but the first to escape from his tongue was, "What are you doing?" He longed to see her face in light—to fathom a better analysis of her current state, but he didn't want to risk leaving her side in search of a light switch.

"…bathroom…," she mumbled with eyes closed tight; an effort to rid herself of the throbbing.

"You're shaking," he finally gathered. He rubbed his warm hands forcefully up and down her arms in an effort to subside the quakes.

"I'm going…to…be," she trailed. He knew what she was going to say before she finished her sentence. Acting quickly, he gently but firmly gathered her arms and hoisted her up, feet planted firmly on the wood-laden floor, and lead her to the bathroom down the hall. This time she seized the opportunity to turn the faucet on and let the violent water drown out her purging.

Peter lifted his head that leaned against the adjacent wall when a light from downstairs flickered on. He heard his father call to upstairs, "Peter, son, is that you? Are you all right?" He closed his eyes and grinded his teeth, trying to come up with a reply.

"Yeah, Walter, I'm fine." Peter slowed his breathing, anticipating another interjection from his father. Hearing the water still gushing, he headed downstairs.

Olivia emerged from the bathroom still feeling awful but less panicky and disorientated. Normally, in any other circumstance, she would have grabbed her things and rushed out the door muttering apologies and excuses; but not tonight. The pain was overbearing and believe it or not the last thing she wanted was to be left alone to her own devices.

From where she stood in the doorframe, the soft glow emitting from the bedside lamp was beckoning her to the bed. Swiping the tears from her eyes—an outcome of the pain and anxiety that remained to rid her body completely—she padded over to the bed and climbed in.

The smiling face bearing a gift of Ginger Ale melted the menacing insecurities and 'unsure-ities' that elicited when she made the decision to get back into the bed. Peter opened the tab, small droplets fizzing over, handed her the can with a "let it sit for awhile." She smiled strangely.

She watched as he made his way over to the dresser and rummaged through the drawers. Her pupils slightly dilated when he brazenly sat next to her—_right_ next to her. Her eyes widened as he leaned in towards her. She merely watched his lips move, the words not registering.

"Relax," she finally heard him say as a finger swept over her burning cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

She slowly nodded her head, not being able to tear away from his gaze.

_Relax. _

She can do that.

Still staring into him she thought over the silence. His eyes reminded her of the earth—comforting, nurturing, and placid. It scared her to think of the unique bond they shared; it was almost unnatural. Little did she know that he was just as scared of their connection. He was terrified of the union he shared with her—of the magnetic pull to always be sure she was safe, content, and close by.

"Your hand is bleeding," he stated, breaking the comfortable silence. Olivia lifted her left hand and turned it palm-face-up to have a better look at the cut. There was still dirt in it from when they pulled to the side of the road and she emptied her stomach in front of him and the whole late night I-95 traffic. Shame flooded her but she pushed it down. Repression was her middle name.

"I must have torn it open when I was washing up," she spoke softly, still a little disorientated from being drunk and sitting on Peter's bed under such circumstances.

Peter smiled at her, glad she was finally opening up and speaking. "Well, why don't you change into these," he placed the soft, flannel pants and long thermal shirt unto her lap, "and then we'll clean it up."

He noticed the fear and apprehension in her eyes and quickly spoke again. "It's way too late for either of us to be driving. Besides, I'm sure you'll agree that you'd sleep better here tonight." When he heard her chuckle he continued, "I mean you practically fell asleep as soon as your head touched the mattress."

He watched as her eyes twinkled with mirth. She smiled at him and he felt himself glow. He stood as she headed for the bathroom once more.

Peter turned around from where he was sitting on the bed to get a good look at her. "They fit beautifully," he noted with a sly grin.

Olivia stood in the doorframe arms circling her waist, trying to hide the fact the clothes weren't a good fit. Peter took notice that she had combed her hair and had tucked it behind both ears.

"Don't look so uncomfortable in my comfortable clothes!" he smiled and patted the bed, motioning for her to have a seat. Again, she smiled strangely and sat cautiously next to him.

"I found some Band-Aids and ointment. Lord knows I'll need them with Walter's experiments creeping into the house—the kitchen especially. I've learned to always study my breakfast, before I bite into it."

Olivia felt some of the tension leave her as he took her hand to clean the cut and make her smile with his witty sense of humor. Olivia smiled until a thought crossed her mind. _Just how many girls did he speak this softly to? _

"What?" Peter asked, noticing the change in her demeanor.

Olivia shuttered through a smile, "nothing. It's fine."

Peter stared at her thoroughly. "Are you sure I'm not hurting you?"

Olivia had to laugh. He was very good at being _this _Peter…this caring, soft spoke Peter. Without permission the image of the grizzly man at the bar, grazing her body, whispering fake sweet-nothings, flashed through her.

Olivia quickly pulled back her hand from Peter's grasp. He was just about to put the Band-Aid on. "I don't want to do this…I can't be here," she sobbed. Tears threatened to brim over and make a mockery out of her. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him. Needless to say Peter was incredulous.

"Hey," he reached out and cupped her cheek like he had in the past. Like always, it instantly soothed her. He watched as her eyes closed and tears fell. "Tell me what's wrong," he whispered.

After a few tries, she found her voice over the sobs, "I…"

"What?" he urged her on.

Just then there was a knock on the door from an unwanted guest. There stood Walter in the doorframe, musty maroon robe, wool socks and all, holding a glass of water and a small goody bag of drugs. A silent _Uh-Oh _crossed Walter's mind. He instantly felt guilty for intruding. He had a passing thought that this was becoming a habit.

"I'm sorry. I thought Agent Dunham—Olivia, could use a late night cocktail of NSAIDs and pain killers. I figured that the alcohol didn't work…" he trailed off, fidgeting with his feet.

That was it. That sent her over the edge. Peter closed his eyes when a loud sob escaped Olivia.

_Ladies and gentlemen, my father…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Final installment folks! Thanks for reading along. I promise for more fics in the upcoming weeks. Pinky-swear!**

"_Hey," he reached out and cupped her cheek like he had in the past. Like always, it instantly soothed her. He watched as her eyes closed and tears fell. "Tell me what's wrong," he whispered._

_After a few tries, she found her voice over the sobs, "I…"_

"_What?" he urged her on._

_Just then there was a knock on the door from an unwanted guest. There stood Walter in the doorframe, musty maroon robe, wool socks and all, holding a glass of water and a small goody bag of drugs. A silent __Uh-Oh __crossed Walter's mind. He instantly felt guilty for intruding. He had a passing thought that this was becoming a habit._

"_I'm sorry. I thought Agent Dunham—Olivia, could use a late night cocktail of NSAIDs and pain killers. I figured that the alcohol didn't work…" he trailed off, fidgeting with his feet._

_That was it. That sent her over the edge. Peter closed his eyes when a loud sob escaped Olivia._

_Ladies and gentlemen, my father…_

Walter stood awkwardly—felt awkward. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another and watched as Olivia began to sob. He should have started to apologize but realized that it was his failure to think before acting that kept getting him into these situations. So, he just stood and thought.

Was he that out of touch with humanity? He had only wanted to help the poor agent and yet, like most situations he's involved in, he ends up hurting someone in the process. This, of course, is never his intent.

Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose and with an exhale looked up at his father; he was obviously vexed and tired.

"That'll be all Walter," Peter sarcastically smiled.

"Preposterous! Don't be ridiculous! I was comforting her long before you where you fool," he spat angrily. He walked over to the edge of the bed and sat on it, facing Olive—Olivia.

Peter wondered what the old man was talking about. But he did know that he had had enough; he stood and walked over to Walter but stopped in his tracks when daggers were thrown at him. _Fine. Work your magic old man. _

"Olivia, dear, listen to me. Look at me," he spoke softly but sternly.

Olivia peered up and met his gaze. Tears trickled down her cheeks and splashed unto the bedspread she had adored just an hour ago.

"Good. Now, we have all had bad days and sometimes those bad days turn into weeks and months, and then seventeen years before you know it. Trust me, I would know. I mean, have you ever been denied the right to use a knife to cut your meat for God's sake-- for fear of someone convinced you'd stab another person?" Walter paused to take a good look at her. Her eyes were a bit glazed over, her cheeks flushed, and her nose a slight pink at the tip.

"Well, did you?" He smiled when a small smiled tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"No," she whispered hoarsely and smiled.

Peter watched the adorable scene unfold and all but rolled his eyes. Actually, he did. Maybe this has a better effect on women. But, he had to hand it Walter--her tears slowed and she was smiling.

Walter couldn't help but smile. He had a flashback of when she was just a mere girl, crying just like this. Back then either he or Belly would have just administered a powerful monoamine oxidase _inhibitor, patted her on the head, and sent her off to take a nap. _

_"What?" Olivia whispered, having noticed a change in Walter's countenance. _

He felt ashamed. How could he ever have done such things…and to children? My God! But…maybe this guilt—what he was feeling now, was a good thing. Maybe he wasn't as evil as he thought he was.

"Walter?" Olivia whispered softly again.

He was startled from his thoughts. He looked at her and then down at the bag of smashed drugs in his hand. He placed the bag into the pocket of his robe and patted Olivia's hand affectionately.

"You…don't need this Agent Dunham. You're a strong young woman. I know it. This…will pass." Olivia was mesmerized by his words.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Walter asked.

Olivia simply nodded her head, a small tear streaming down her right cheek. When the thought of never really having a father crossed her mind during Walter's speech, she tried her best to control her emotions. Unfortunately, the battle proved worthy and a single tear fell, against her best defenses.

"Good. Now, why don't you get some sleep? I make a ferocious breakfast," Walter turned to Peter, "right Peter?"

Peter nodded and watched as his father convinced the woman he cared strongly for get beneath the covers and lay her head on the pillow.

"There will be sausage, eggs, bacon, banana pancakes, milkshakes, hash browns—oh how I love a good, crispy hash brown…" Walter rambled on.

"Walter, I think she gets the idea," Peter smiled and stepped out of the way, cueing Walter to go back to bed himself.

Walter patted Olivia's leg, stood, and headed for the door. He stopped at the doorframe and whispered to his son, "We might need to take a trip to the grocery store," and then left.

Peter stayed in the doorframe, watching Olivia getting settled. He smiled at how adorable she is; puffy eyes, rosy cheeks, eyes that screamed _tired_. When she caught him staring at her he walked over to the bed and sat where his father just was.

"Can I ask you something?" she barely whispered. He smiled and nodded his head 'yes.'

"How did you find me?" she asked. She had been dying to ask him all night but was afraid of the answer.

"Well, your sister called me. It was late, she couldn't get a hold of you, and given what happened the last time she couldn't find you, she was worried…to say the least. I assured her that you were probably blowing off some steam and that I would find you. And I did, and at the right moment I suppose. That guy should have a permanent reminder to not prey on women at bars like that."

"I was foolish. I should have stopped at number four. But, I was just in so much pain…physical and emotional I suppose." She peeked up to see concern etched on his face.

She cleared her throat, "Did you call Rachel back?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, I left a message. She must have fallen asleep."

"I'm sorry I'm such a burden," she spat out quickly, afraid if she didn't say it fast enough she might not ever say it.

Peter looked at her, a few seconds going by. "You, Olivia Dunham, will never be a burden to those who love you."

"What about you?" she asked, scared of what he'd say.

"I suppose you could stick me in that category—Walter as well," he smiled and then she smiled.

"Now, would you please go to sleep? I don't think I could stay up for very much longer," he laughed. He reached over her to the bedside lamp.

"Wait! What about you? Where will you sleep?" she asked.

"Have you forgotten how many times you came into the hotel to see me waking up from the couch? I've grown accustom to it—even learned to like it."

"You can stay here," she murmured meekly. He couldn't help but break out into a grin.

"That's sweet of you but," he bent down to drop a small, chastise kiss on her forehead, "I think it'd be better if I leave you to rest without any disturbances."

"But you wouldn't…you wouldn't disturb me at all…." she trailed off.

He thought for a second. "Do you promise to share the blankets? That you won't steal them in the middle of the morning?" She smiled and nodded. "Do you pink-swear?" She laughed and pulled her hand out from under the blanket.

"Pink-swear," she chuckled and linked pinky fingers with him.

"Okay, move over and make some room." And with that he jumped in bed next to her. He clicked the light off.

"Goodnight Peter," she mumbled from the other side of the bed. It was barely audible; a good indicator that she was seconds away from a restful slumber.

"Goodnight Livy," he retorted, grinning.


End file.
